divine violence

[xgodless]

𝖇𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖊𝖛𝖊 𝖒𝖊 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖆 𝖌𝖔𝖉 & 𝕴'𝖑𝖑 𝖇𝖊𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖞 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖆 𝖒𝖆𝖓

𝔵𝔤𝔬𝔡𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰 - a dependent multimuse blog for moblandhq

alina byrne - intro ♦ connections ♦ tag ♦ threads

ezekiel walker - intro ♦ connections ♦ tag ♦ threads

[xgodless]

[maurizio-giordano]

open starter

Location: the hills

As Los Angeles stretched out below in all its glory, Maurizio found himself at a secluded overlook on the Hollywood Hills, bearing his own reasons for being awake before the city. The air was still crisp, carrying the faint scent of earthy woods and distant sea salt, enveloping his every sense, as he inhaled profoundly; piercing blues reflected the deep indigo shade of the very sky above, which now slowly faded into soft rose and golden hues. He'd just finished a rigorous run, his built frame moving with an almost unnatural grace, not a bead of sweat seemingly out of place, while he went about his daily routine.

The bodyguard stopped at the very edge of the clearing, facing the rising sun, allowing himself to just be present in the moment and admire the beauty of nature itself. His dark, impeccably tailored jogging attire did little to hide the toned musculature beneath, or the faint, intricate patterns of tattoos peeking from under his sleeves and collar – tiny hints of a deeper story he was adamant to leave where it belonged — buried deep within the indefinite abyss of his past. He turned slightly, catching the nascent light, his eyes unmistakably exuding an enigmatic aura, a quiet power that was both intriguing and subtly intimidating without trying. Clearly enjoying this solitary moment of peace and quiet, his breathing evened out slowly, his focus unmarred; yet there was an underlying alertness ever present and stirring within upon realizing, he wasn't as alone as he might have thought. His gaze briefly swept over the panoramic view of the dormant city, before it settled on the approaching figure. With no surprise in his oceanic blues, no immediate reaction beyond a calm, almost analytical observation, he gave a small, acknowledging nod and offered a short: "Good Morning". - for his manner's sake; not because he was particularly in the mood for a little chit chat.

[xgodless]

Routines weren't something that she lived her life by out of desire but rather necessity. With two children to take care of as well as her role with the Rileys, every second of time counted and she rarely had time for any real kind of indulgence. Except for the few Saturday nights and Sunday mornings her sister took the kids for her, Aoife and Marius only too happy to spend the time with their aunt and give her a much needed reprive. The evenings were almost always spent socialising, The Stags Head her choice of haunt when the faces there were so familiar. It was the place that felt most like home, even if the time she spent there did come with the not so pleasant side effect of a hangover the next morning.

The next morning was different, usually opting for a walk in the hills to blow some of the cobwebs that were making her usually sharp mind so fuzzy away. As she focused on putting one foot in front of the other and drawing air into her lungs, attention was soon captured by the view unfolding below her. Gaze on the city she supposed was her home she didn't notice the man until she was almost upon him, head turning towards him at the sound of his voice. "Shit." Curse slipped out before she could stop it ( not that she tried hard to ) and her next words were dry and verging on disapproving. "Most people like to start their mornings with coffee or something to get their blood flowing. Can't say a heart attack's working for me." Pointed look was shot in his direction, sharpness of it dulled slightly by the laugh she offered at her own expense. Privately she'd place the blame for her heart beating a mile a minute at his feet but she wasn't about to ruin her own morning with an argument. "Some view, huh?" An olive branch or maybe just a redirect before she talked herself into trouble.

[blackmensuited]

[xgodless]

Main Street Gym with Zion Walker @fclsehearted

Ezekiel had always been a man who focused on the task at hand. Or rather he had molded himself into one when he'd decided that only he could fill the void that his father had left behind. Attentiveness had been a trait of the older Walker, one he sought to embody. So he almost doesn't notice his cousin walking through the door as he's finishing up coaching one of the new hotshots. A few more instructions are given before he patted the kid on the shoulder for a job well done, only then turning to face Zion. "'Bout time you showed that face of yours." It wasn't as though it was the first time he was late nor did he think it would be the last - why break the habit of a lifetime - but he still found it amusing to play at disappointed in the other Walker's timekeeping. "Was starting to wonder if the hangover had finally caught up to you." He thought it unlikely, privately, when Zion had always had a way of coming out of any situation unscathed. Liquor was an old adversary, one he'd beaten a hundred times over.

They fell into their usual rhythm, Zeke moving through the routine they had together as they worked closely and traded off spotting each other. For a while there was nothing but the workout, eventually breaking the pattern of Zion's comments and his grunts in return. as they neared the halfway mark. "Kids keep asking when you're gonna drop by." He'd cemented his place as their favourite uncle, never bothering to correct them on his title when formal lines blurred in their family. Cousins raised as brothers, uncles filled in for grandfathers and blood the tie that bound them above all else. "They think you're more fun." There was chagrin in his tone but he couldn't claim to be surprised by it. His own aim was to be firm but fair, someone steady and reliable for them to come to when they needed help. Zion had the luxury of interacting with them without worrying about discipline or having to pick up the pieces if there were tears. He didn't begrudge his cousin the role, only happy that his children got to have him in their lives so often.

[fclsehearted]

He didn’t look at her right away. Just watched the glass in front of him—half-full, though he couldn’t recall when he’d last taken a sip—like maybe it’d tell him what to say. There was no mistaking the voice. He’d heard it before he felt her presence. Heard it like a ghost you’d half-prayed might stay buried.

Alina Byrne. Christ.

Of course she’d find him tonight of all nights. And of course she’d walk right up like no time had passed at all—like it didn’t cost him anything to be seen by someone who remembered the version of him that hadn’t come back from France with blood on his boots and skin that didn’t fit right anymore. Someone who’d known him when his hands were still calloused from rope, not war.

“I don’t bolt,” he said finally, voice gravel-soft, almost amused if it weren’t so tired. He glanced her way, eyes sharp beneath the lowered brim of his gaze. “Not unless I see trouble.” And she was that, wasn’t she? Not in the way that needed running from. But in the way that dug under the ribs and made old wounds ache again. Her being here pulled on something he hadn’t named yet. A tether to a life he wasn’t sure he deserved anymore.

Eoin turned toward the bar a little more, slow, deliberate—still angling the right side of his face toward her. Habit. The scarred side prickled when he was watched too long. He felt it even now. “I didn’t mean to…” He stopped. Exhaled through his nose. The sentence went nowhere, like most of the things he wanted to say to her. Too many starts. Not enough ends. He pushed the glass toward her. Not quite a peace offering. Not quite a wall, either. “Buy it if you want. But I don’t promise much these days.”

That was the truth of it. He was a man of few guarantees. Fewer still that held up under the weight of memory. But his voice dropped slightly on the next part, quiet in a way that wasn’t evasive—just honest. Like it mattered, that she’d offered him something simple. Like silence might be a kind of truce. “...Silence don’t sound too bad, though.” He didn’t smile. Didn’t frown either. Just let the stillness settle between them, and for once, didn’t get up and leave.

[xgodless]

Scoff fell from her lips followed by laughter, at his expense but not cruel. "Sure you don't. Just walk purposefully in the other direction, right?" Chasing after him wasn't something new, after all, she'd spent half her childhood hot on the heels of him and Marius. Begging to be included in their games until they agreed just to shut her up for a little while. Now she wasn't sure if it was the specter of her brother that lingered between them and made hers a face he wanted to avoid or if it was maybe just that she knew too much. Had seen too much before the years had taken their toll.

She didn't miss the way that he still angled himself away from her, resisting the urge to lean in further and make it impossible for him to. Hard to tell if he was hiding from her, the world or just the reality of what their lives were after war. It didn't matter, she'd coax him out one way or another. "You callin' me trouble?" Hand clutched at pearls she'd never had the money to buy, rosy lips parting in faux disbelief. "Mighty big accusation there, Riley." Curls bounced as she shook her head in mock disapproval. "A baseless one too." Hand was lifted, gentle waving away of what she could only guess might have been the start of an apology or maybe some kind of explanation. He could make up for whatever slight he thought he'd inflicted upon her now.

Their drinks arrived and she settled into the silence she'd promised. She might have been a woman of many words but she'd always been one to keep them. Even if she felt as though the quiet that stretched between them might just kill her. Each second that ticked by a new itch that she was so desperate to scratch, feeling as though her mind was sowing words into her tongue like seeds but she wasn't allowed to let them bloom. Sip after sip was taken from the glass in front of her, wondering if the rich, burning liquid might wash away the unsaid things taking root in her mouth.

A few others approached, expecting to get a typical raucous welcome for her but instead head was shaken or hand raised to wave them away. The persistent once even got a glare as she protected the brief peace she'd created for them. Eventually she reached the bottom and a sidelong glance in his direction told her he'd done the same. The glass was placed back on the counter with more of a thunk this time, as though she was banging a gavel to end their self imposed silence. "I think it's time for round two." Brows raised over brown eyes that seemed to flicker with a playful light, hand already raising to beckon the bartender over again.

"Maybe this time we can up the word count to at least more than zero?" Beneath the teasing was a subtle sincerity, something of a trademark of hers, because she did want to know how he'd been. They had years to catch up on and she thought there was no better time than now.

[xgodless]

The Stag's Head with Eoin Riley @fclsehearted

Alina had a way of being heard before she was seen, her path up to the bar filled with short, raucous conversations. Her laughter bubbled up freely and easily as she traded quips and barbs with those she was familiar with, it taking several minutes for her to wind her way through to the bar. The route she'd taken had ended up at one end of it, towards the quieter end and left her staring straight at the back of an all too familiar head. Eoin Riley. Initially, since realising he was in the city too, she'd afforded him the rare luxury of doing things on his terms despite her usually being far too much of a force to allow someone else to dictate how she should walk through life. ( Well, at least since the death of her husband. ) But while her blunt tongue could lead to tactlessness on almost any day the war had left a big enough aftermath to inspire some level of sensitivity in her. So she'd given him the space he seemed to want and waited for him to come around or get used to her presence again but that had never happened. Their exchanges simply limited to topics that benefitted the Rileys, much to her chagrin.

But there was something about him that was still a little piece of home, whether he wanted to be or not. Selfishness took over when even though she was settled into her new life in Los Angeles there would always be lingering pangs of homesickness for the city of her childhood she'd left in such a hurry. Elbows propped onto the bar next to him, not taking the seat next to him just yet. Head tipped to the side, curls bouncing slightly with the motion as if to announce her presence. "If I buy you another one of those do you promise not to find somewhere to bolt off to until you've finished it?" Tone was light, almost dangerously so, dark eyes fixed on his profile as though it could somehow help her read his mind. "And I mean savour it, no downing." Terms were laid out clearly but she felt the need to sweeten the deal, wondering if just the two of them side by side would be enough to scratch the memories that itched. "But I'm not opposed to enjoying it in silence."

[fclsehearted]

featuring: open where: grand central market

It didn’t matter how many gowns Rosa Alvarez owned, how her star rose or fell, or how many fellow wives of means tried to tell her to let someone else “handle it.”

This part? No one else ever handled it.

The heat inside Grand Central Market was its own kind of perfume—chili oil and roasted pork, fresh cilantro and ripe mango, something frying three stalls over, and the clatter of knives hitting cutting boards like percussion. The whole place buzzed, a tangle of languages and hands and hunger. Rosa moved through it with a kind of ease that could never be faked—basket on her arm, heels traded for flats, lipstick still perfect because of course it was.

She was bartering in Spanish with a produce vendor over the price of guajillos, but her mind was already on the rest of the list. She needed plantains firm enough to fry, culantro—not cilantro, culantro, por el amor de Dios—and a very particular cut of pork shoulder that only old Man Torres ever got just right. She’d promised her mother’s pastelón recipe for dinner this week, and she wasn’t about to half-ass it, not even for a private meal at home.

"Dos puñados, pero bien secos—sí, así, gracias, corazón." She gave the vendor a smile that could’ve knocked the wind out of a lesser man and moved on, the basket already starting to fill. There was something centering about this place. Among the chatter and the chaos, she didn’t have to be anything except her father's daughter. Her mother's daughter. A woman raised in a kitchen that never went quiet, in a home where food was affection, and the right sofrito could fix almost anything.

She reached for a bunch of culantro just as someone else’s hand did the same, and her fingers brushed theirs. Rosa looked up, one brow arched, a spark already in her smile. “Careful. I will fight you for this.”

[xgodless]

The market wouldn't place highly on his favourite place in the city - too noisy, too busy, too crowded - but with his wife's determination to host family dinner ( a far bigger evening than its title would suggest ) came the necessity of supplies. So he'd braved the other shoppers, moving meticulously through the stalls and checking things off his list as he went. The exchanges were brieft but his manners flawless, a simple exchange of money so he could continue fulfilling the list. His hand and was reaching towards the next item when it collided with another.

Hand moved back a fraction to end the contact but remained in place, debating whether he was going to relinquish the bunch while careful gaze watched her face. "Threatening violence over herbs, hm." Faint trace of amusement flickered over his features, the kind of almost imperceptable expression you'd miss unless you were one of the few in the city who actually paid attention. He kept his hand hovering, as though he was prepared to accept her terms. But sense and good nature won out over stubbornness, finally moving his hand to gesture for her to go ahead. "It must be pretty important to you." Words were said neutrally, no accusation in his tone when it felt more of an obvious statement of act. People didn't declare that they would fight over something they didn't care about.

Gaze left her features, his studying set aside for a moment to look at the herbs he was supposed to be picking up. After a few moments of silence he broke it, the only time he was ever prepared to ask for help was when it benefitted someone else and he wanted to make sure he was taking the bet home. "What made that bunch so special?" Not quite a plea but hopefully not putting her on the spot either. The corner of his lip curled up into a self-deprecating smile. "Not much of a culantro connoisseur."

[xgodless]

see ALINA BYRNE over there? they have quite a reputation for being OUTSPOKEN. some would beg to differ & say that they’re more RESOURCEFUL. rumor has it they are an ADVISOR for the RILEY SYNDICATE. the 33 year old has been around los angeles for FOUR YEARS. just keep an eye on them — in this city, everyone’s hiding something & it’s only a matter of time before their true colors shine through. 

Quick Facts:

FULL NAME: Alina Maeve Byrne NICKNAME(S): Lina, Lin PREFERRED NAME(S): Alina unless you're close BIRTH DATE: ZODIAC:  AGE: 33 HEIGHT: 5'7 SEXUALITY: demisexual, demiromantic OCCUPATION: accountant AFFLIATION: Riley BIRTH PLACE: Belfast, NI FATHER: Ciaran Byrne MOTHER: Romica Byrne née Simionescu SIBLING(S): Darragh (half-sibling), Aisling (half-sibling), Marius (deceased) BIRTH ORDER: Cormac, Aisling, Marius, Alina MARITIAL STATUS: widowed CHILDREN: Aoife (7) & Marius (3) PET(S): a large mutt she picked up off the street name Scruff by Aoife

tl;dr:

tw for domestic abuse

As the youngest daughter of a Belfast dock worker she learned from a young age to speak up if she wanted to be heard. Raised fearless alongside siblings who'd always catch her when she fell, she considered herself invincible. Add to that her clear intelligence and a knack for numbers that only ever made money, Alina glided through most of her life. Until she met a man and he turned her world on its head, her following him to New York just two weeks after they met. Things were blissful until they weren't. Her husband all for a clever wife until he realised that she was cleverer than him. It started subtly, undermining her just enough that he didn't realise he was doing it. Sowing seeds of doubt into her usually so self-assured mind, making her question her every thought and every word. News from family gave her the perspective she needed back but in standing up for herself she earned her husbands ire. The war proved to be her saving grace, her husband dying in action and making her a tragic war widow instead of a downtrodden woman. She wasted no time moving to Los Angeles, still pregnant with her second child, in search of something new. It didn't take long for her to reunite with connections of her father, her knowledge of the dock business as well as her talented head for numbers quickly making her indespensible. She might not have the best way of showing it but the Rileys are an extension of her family, a group that having given her the respect that she's felt she's always deserved and for that they have her unyielding loyalty.

Personality:

After years of making herself smaller she refuses to do it anymore. She's bold and blunt, the laughter that had evaded her throughout her marriage now heard before you see her. There's friendliness to be found if you can understand that the more she makes fun of you, the more she likes you. Her circle is kept small, protective of her life now more than she ever was, but those who are let in benefit from her loyalty and desire to do anything for them. The intelligence that has been present since she was a child means that she can quickly connect dots ( even if she connects them wrongly ) and so she can be quite blunt if she thinks someone is doing something in a way she wouldn't. Holding herself to high standards now, she isn't easily impressed unless others do the same.

[xgodless]

see EZEKIEL WALKER over there? they have quite a reputation for being TENTATIVE. some would beg to differ & say that they’re more GENEROUS. rumor has it they are an UNDERBOSS for the WALKER SYNDICATE. the 38 year old has been around los angeles for TWENTY-SIX YEARS. just keep an eye on them — in this city, everyone’s hiding something & it’s only a matter of time before their true colors shine through. 

Quick Facts:

FULL NAME: Ezekiel Walker NICKNAME(S): Zeke PREFERRED NAME(S): Zeke (from friends/family) BIRTH DATE: ZODIAC:  AGE: 38 HEIGHT: 6'2 SEXUALITY: demisexual, demiromantic OCCUPATION: owner of Main Street Gym AFFLIATION: Walker BIRTH PLACE: New Orleans, LA FATHER: Elijah Walker MOTHER: Walker née Nelson SIBLING(S): four BIRTH ORDER: Ezekiel is the eldest MARITIAL STATUS: married CHILDREN: three PET(S):

tl;dr:

The eldest son of a second son, Ezekiel grew up watching his father put nothing but good into the world and saw the world give him nothing back in return. As he grew up this fostered a sense of resentment in him, a chip planting itself firmly on his shoulder. He protected those he loved by attacking others before they could strike first. When they moved to Los Angeles from New Orleans his uncle found a way to channel that bitterness, using his rage to the family's advantage. He developed a reputation and as soon as he was eighteen he claimed a place in the Walker Syndicate. Before long he was an enforcer for them, doing the dirty work so they could thrive. The death of his father when he was twenty-five brought a shift and realising the hole his outlook on life left. His grief drove him to being more like his father, choosing to follow in his footsteps as an underboss rather than carving his own bloody path. Since then he has focused on being a pilar of the community, stoic but steady. Always there for whomever might need him, choosing to foster loyalty rather than fear. Though his old legacy of rage still lingers, an ominious threat to any who might forget that underneath his kindness is still a man who will do whatever it takes for those he loves.

Personality:

Quiet and dependable are perhaps the first words that would spring to mind for most people who know Ezekiel. He's methodical and careful after years of being too reckless, weighing every decision before he makes his move. There's an ability to put aside his own feelings and focus on what's best for those around him, all too quick to martyr himself if it's in aid of something else. Subtle kindness can be found if you study him just a little while, the ease with which he is able to help others hard not to notice when you know what to look for - he just does it without any bells or wistles and without looking for any kind of praise. Those that pose any kind of threat to his own though will see a different side of him, merciless and unforgiven. Though his heart has endless capacity for giving, once it has hardened there's no going back.